aspects of womanhood and submission…

(Writing this post was emotionally draining to me, so I apologize if it seems a bit disjointed or if it seems I am jumping from one subject to another.  It’s also a bit different than my usual sex posts – so consider yourself fair warned.)

I tend to write a lot about sex.  A big aspect of my relationship with Mad Baker (and Victor) tend to revolve around sex – not the whole aspect of each relationship, but a large part of it.  But to me, being submissive is far more than just sexual behavior.

To me, a big aspect of submission is being feminine.  Now, I don’t want to hear comments about how dominant women can be feminine too, or how submissive men can still be manly while being submissive.  I accept all of that and do not discourage it!  But submission means something different to each individual, and to me, it is intricately and irreversibly tied to my sense of feminine self.

To that respect, I find I have always felt drawn to the old-fashioned aspects of womanhood – housekeeping, sewing, crocheting, cooking, canning, and just general traditional female responsibilities.

I want to make my bed each morning with a quilt that I spent several painstaking hours creating.  I want to prepare meals for my family with food that I grew and stored.  I want to send my kids off to school with homemade cookies rather than store-bought.  I want to wear clothing that I created.  I want people to walk into my home and stand in awe of the comfortable and relaxing hideaway that I designed.

I want to see Mad Baker come home from work to sit in a comfortable chair by the fireplace on a cold winter night.  I want to kneel at his feet, remove his boots and massage the aches of the workday out of his soles.  I want to see him curled up on the couch with a blanket that I crocheted while he laughs at the news program on the T.V.

I want our children to feel that home is an oasis from the pressures of daily life.  Growing up is a stressful thing to do, I want to ease that pressure as much as humanly possible.  I want them to bring friends home, and see the sense of pride as they show off their room and their treasures.

Unfortunately, reality rushes in on my dreams like a cast-iron skillet to the head.

I am not the greatest housekeeper, I freely admit.  When I was a child, I grew up in a home that was run by an insane man with control issues.  If there was a single speck of dirt anywhere, you were guaranteed that you would be yelled at and smacked around a little.  On bad days, you WISHED you were just smacked around a little.  Housecleaning was an activity that was full of fear…I remember washing the dishes three times before rinsing and drying, because I KNEW that a single speck on a dish would bring pain and punishment…and that was just one of my chores.

A side effect of this upbringing is that I feel incredibly anxious when the house is close to perfect, cleanliness-wise.  For example, the other week I had the kitchen near-spotless.  Dishes were done, the floor had been mopped (by hand, no less), the cupboards had been wiped down, the stove taken apart and thoroughly scoured.  Mad Baker walked into the room just as I noticed that there were some splatters on the wall from having fried chicken earlier that evening.  And as he walked in, I cringed, fully expecting to be smacked across the face for failing in my duties.

(a reaction which kinda annoys Mad Baker, I know, because he has NEVER hit me outside of a BDSM scene.  He’s just not an abusive man.   And of course Mad Baker didn’t hit me – in fact he complimented me on how quickly I had gotten the kitchen clean, and then invited me to join him for some television.)

I feel shame when I feel that way.  On one hand, my reaction is completely understandable.  But that doesn’t make it right.

The only way I have found to be able to handle this reaction is to keep parts of the house intentionally cluttered.  Not filthy, but cluttered.  An example – like most women with multiple kids, I don’t always get the laundry put away immediately after it is washed.  But in my case, the clutter centers my emotions.  Seeing it there in an otherwise clean room reminds me that I won’t get beaten or hurt for not having put it away…it’s gotten to the point where I always make sure there is at least one load there for my own comfort!  And this is not a healthy reaction.

I want to be able to present my Dom(s) with a clean house…but the reality is, a clean house causes such anxiety that I can’t bring myself to do it.  And this leaves me feeling like a failure, both as a woman and as a submissive.  My desires to present a clean and comfortable home clash with my need to reduce my anxiety.

So for the next several weeks…months…well, honestly, however long it takes…I will be working on becoming a better homemaker.  Learning to deal with these anxiety issues, and working beyond them.  I know this isn’t what most people are used to reading on my blog, but damn it, it’s my blog and I am going to type whatever I feel applies to submission…and to me, homemaking is a HUGE part of my submission.

There will still be entries about sex – but those will be intermixed with entries about homemaking and womanhood in general.  Feel free to comment on anything I say, I encourage feedback and criticism.  I hope this post wasn’t too much of a downer to any of my readers.

~hugs~ from patricialynn

An unexpected surprise!

Every day when the kids don’t have school, we have “quiet time” – they lay down with a good book and I get a couple hours break from parenting (comes in handy sometimes).

Well, Mad Baker has been gone since noon yesterday, and he wasn’t expected back until 9am Monday morning (long work shifts).  I was a little horny, but I don’t take time to masturbate while the kids are awake.  So I sat at the computer and did a little flirting with several other kinky people I know (including Mad Baker himself, and two other Dominants).

After a while I get a call from MB.  “Let me in” he says.  “Huh?” I asked intelligently.  “I’m at the front door, but it’s locked – let me in!”  In disbelief I went to the front door and removed the chain…and sure enough, there stood MB in his medic uniform.

In puzzlement I followed him into the bedroom.  He reached for his thumb drive, pocketed it, and then shut the bedroom door before pushing me down to the bed.

In one swift motion, he lifted my skirt and drove his fingers into me, rubbing my clit at the same time until I exploded.  I felt a huge gush and knew I had cum all over the bedding…he smirked and told me to cover myself before he opened the bedroom door.  I barely got my skirt pulled back down in time!

As I sat there, stunned, I heard the front door slam as he left.  I don’t even think he was in the house for a full 60 seconds, but in that time he managed to give me one hell of an orgasm!

Sick

Sorry there hasn’t been an update on this blog for a couple weeks – we had a huge road trip coming up and then, after we got back, I fell ill.  I will be up to sitting at the computer publishing sexy blog posts soon.

I hope everyone else out there is feeling healthy and happy.

Product Review: The Eroscillator

Oh boy did I have an exciting night the other night!  My birthday present arrived in the mail, and even though my birthday is still over a week away, Mad Baker got eager and decided to open the present early.

The present turned out to be the Eroscillator, one of the hottest clit vibes on the market.  This is the clit teaser recommended by Dr. Ruth Westhiemer!  And after he used it on me, Mad Baker required me to write a review here in my blog.

I liked the way it was packaged – I was blindfolded at the time Mad Baker unwrapped it, but I could tell it didn’t take him long at all.  Later, I got a look at the packaging and was rather pleased with it.

In the past, I have dealt with frustration, trying to open a package while in the heat of need, and unable to pry the damn thing open.  This package was designed so that it could be opened without having to grab scissors or a blade, which was nice.

I tried to compare the Eroscillator to my old favorite, the Hitachi Magic Wand – and the Eroscillator beat it in EVERY respect.

The first and most obvious difference was the cord.  I have been frustrated with my Hitachi in the past because the cord was too short to reach my side of the bed.  But the Eroscillator comes with a 12 foot cord, which made masturbating before bedtime simple.

Our new toy came with four attachments – three of which were double-sided, giving us a grand total of seven clit teasers.  Mad Baker decided to experiment with each one, bring me to close to orgasm (but denying me the release) each time.

Just as nice as the attachments was the controls – a simple sliding button with three different power levels.  It astounded me that I was able to climax with the lowest setting (normally I am a heavy-stimulation girl).  And the highest setting was wickedly delightful!

The next night, when he was at work, I experimented again with all seven attachments.  More than 20 orgasms later, I was exhausted but sated, and still unable to decide which attachment was my favorite! More testing is called for ~snickers~

The Eroscillator is definately my new favorite toy in our collection (in fact, I am going to beg MB for permission to keep it at my bedside table rather than throwing it in the toybox to get tangled up in the ropes).

And so, dear readers – at the suggestion of both Mad Baker and Viktor,  I am going to leave you with this little (true) story of how the Eroscillator gave me release – and yet gave Mad Baker a different kind of release as well.

After he was done tormenting my lady bits with the Eroscillator, MB had helped me get ready for bed (trust me, I was NOT capable of moving on my own at that point).  I usually sleep with a fan on, and so he thoughtfully turned it on before reaching for the blankets.

Every nerve in my body was raw from the repeated orgasms and ministrations of our new toy – and the air flow from the fan was just too much stimulation.  To my shock, I climaxed – and climaxed again – and again…

I tried to beg MB to turn off the fan, but he was laughing too hard….I finally had to knock the thing over before I passed out from the overload to my senses!  I have NEVER had a toy that made me THAT sensitive to simple stimulation….and also, I haven’t seen Mad Baker laugh that hard in months.

It’s been three days since then, and he is STILL laughing whenever he thinks about it.

So on a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the best toy on the market, the Eroscillator gets a 9 – the only reason it doesn’t get a ten is because it doesn’t have a dildo-like attachment – but then I looked online and found out that it can be bought separately.  If that works as well as I think it will, I will upgrade my score to a perfect 10.

On being open-minded….

I keep forgetting how closed-minded the world around me is.   It’s easy to forget, when all your acquaintances are open-minded people (and kinky to boot!).

Recently I went back to a human sexuality forum that I used to spend a lot of time on.  I started a thread announcing my upcoming marriage to MB.  A lot of the regulars there congratulated me, and some asked if this would affect my relationship with Viktor (no, it will not).

But some of the venom that I got from others was truly astounding.  Here is just an example:

“How did you manage to convince him to marry your skanky ass?”

“…this bitch claims to have been fisted, and raped and a sex slave.  Now clench your hand into a fist, and think about how big that hole is!  Would a tricycle fit in that garage? A man could probably do scuba diving in that hole, and never touch the bottom!”

“Is it a real wedding or one in Vegas with Elvis? What are you both wearing, leather straps with matching anal toys, with chains clanking down the aisle? Don’t forget to take your gags out of your mouths before the ‘I do’.”

“According to some of her posts the men in her life are very much sadists, but that’s what she calls LOVE!  LMAO!”

“Yet you claim that you were once raped! So tell me what caused you to scream rape,was it that his dick was too small?  It must have been that later on you got jealous for some reason,or that he never wanted to come back for more,so you screamed rape to make him pay for jilting you! You will never convince me that you were ever a victim of rape”

And the ugliness went on and on….

To be honest, it caught me off guard.  Like I said, I lately have been corresponding and spending time with people in the lifestyle, and thus had actually forgotten that there are people out there who don’t approve of BDSM and poly – and those people are VERY vocal about their disapproval!

But it should not have caught me off-guard.  That was MY fault – being unprepared for the hatred and bigotry that exists out there.  And so I share my experience with you, dear readers – because I suspect a lot of you are going to face the same prejudice, the same disdain, that I have experienced in the last few days.

So I am going to open up my blog to everyone who has dealt with this kind of behavior before.  How did you handle it?  Share your experiences!  And if you haven’t dealt with this before, but feel you have something to say about the subject, then please comment – let’s get a discussion going here.

Microfantasy Monday

I have been reading other sex blogs where the lovely ladies (and some men) were borrowing the Sweltering Celt’s brainchild of “Microfantasy Monday”.

Basically, every week the Celt puts up a theme – and you are to write a sexy microfantasy based on that theme.  This week’s theme is “books”….

This time, as I knelt on the pillow to do my meditation ritual before “playtime”, Master stopped me and handed me a book.  “I want you to read a story from this book, and then tell me what you liked about the story – what turned you on – what made you wet…”  He grinned and left me kneeling on the pillow with the book in my hands.

Curious, I turned the book over to read the title –  “He’s on Top: Erotic Stories of Male Dominance and Female Submission”.  A grin spread across my face.  Mmmmmm, I was going to enjoy this!

You can find the Sweltering Celt on her blog, http://swelteringcelt.com/

After the meal…(NSFW)

(I wrote this story several months ago as an assignment for Mad Baker.  Part of the assignment was to share it with five other people – and the responses I got were so positive that I decided to copywrite it.  Re-posting this story here by request from another submissive who likes my writing.  NSFW!!!)

I pulled the chicken out of the oven, smiling at the appearance of the perfectly browned bird.  I set it down on the counter and turned my attention to the biscuits.  They weren’t done yet, so I shut the overn door and re-set the timer, nerves quivering.

This was the first time I had cooked a fancy-type meal in a while, and on top of that was the pressure to make it absolutely perfect.  I had planned out the beginning of the night, and I wanted everything to be just right.  I had a few surprises in store for the gentlemen I was cooking for!

I sliced the chicken into thin strips and arranged it decoratively onto two plates.  I added baked potatoes to one side, and steamed asparagus to the other (with hope that I had steamed them right).  I drizzled a bit of gravy on the chicken just as the timer sounded.  The biscuits looked perfect, and added just the right look to the plates.  Two glasses of wine completed the meal.

Now for my surprise.  I reached under the cupboard and pulled out the serving tray I had secretly ordered online.  I had pre-measured the straps and knew they were just the right size for my body.  One strap went around my waist, holding the tray at a good level – the other went around my neck to hold it steady.  The tray was just large enough to hold two dinner plates, silverware, and wine glasses.  I took a deep breath and checked my appearance one last time in a hand mirror.  Satisfied that I looked sleek and meek, I laced my hands behind my back and walked carefully out into the living room.

There they were, sitting on the couch having a nice discussion.  As I neared them I could make out the topic – they were discussing the merits of rope bondage verses leather cuffs.  I neared the chair in which Master sat and kneeled in front of him, offering him first the silverware, wrapped artistically in a cloth napkin.  Next the glass of wine, and finally the plate of food.  He said nothing to me, but I could see the light of appreciation in his eyes, and felt his gaze caressing my figure as I moved to Sir.  I preformed the same functions for Sir, in the same order.  He also treated this as though it was normal, but also had a little glint in his eye that told me he had noticed the new equipment.

I stood, for a moment lost – I had expected they would say something or order me to do something, and left to my own devices was confusing for a few moments.  But then the thought occurred to me to go back in the kitchen and grab the bottle of wine, so I could refill their cups without another trip.  While in there, I was struck by inspiration and quickly poured two bowls full of warm water and grabbed two washcloths.

I came back out and put the bowls and washcloths on the side table, and knelt there with the wine, occasionally topping a glass when I noticed it was dropping low in level.  I listened to the conversation, enjoying the contrast of their voices – one deep and silky, the other a resonate tenor with a lilt.  Both voices sent jolts of energy straight to my pussy, quivering and wet.  But the only outward sign of my arousal was the tautness of my nipples.

Occasionally one of them would look over at me, appraising and evaluating.  I knelt there, back straight, breasts thrust out, head bowed – the perfect picture of submission.  I could sense the rising ardor in both men and felt my own body respond, but remained quiet and meek.

Master finished his meal first.  Topping off his wineglass, I took his plate and silverware, and then dipped the washcloth into the warm water.  Taking his hand, I washed each finger, massaging gently as I cleaned him.

By the time I was done, Sir had finished his meal, so I took his plate and gave him the same cleansing massage.  He nudged off his socks and lifted a foot in my direction, and I began to wash his feet as well, massaging as I scrubbed.  He sighed and leaned back, and the conversation between the two men continued.  I noted in interest that it had switched from bondage to politics.  I gave the feet a last swipe with the cloth, and feeling worshipful, knelt further and laid a kiss on the top of each foot.

I walked on my knees over to Master, bending to remove his socks.  A jolt of shock and arousal ran down to my toes when he grabbed me by the hair and yanked me back up.  “Did I give you permission to remove my socks, slut?”  he growled, voice low and dangerous.  I cringed.  “My apologies, Master!  I should have asked first. Mercy!”

He took the strap of the serving tray off of my neck, and leaned over and unsnapped the waist cord.  “I don’t forgive that easily,” he breathed.  “Stand up!”

I stood, legs shaking after having knelt for so long.  Master stood as well.  Grasping the back of my neck, he forced me to bend over the couch.  I made a move to kneel and he snapped “Stand up!”.  I stood.  And for a moment everything was still and silent….me standing in front of the couch, bent over…Master standing over me…Sir leaning back in his chair, silently observing.

Then the room burst into life again.  Sir drew in a breath and Master yanked hard at my skirt, ripping it as he pulled it down around my ankles….bare ass exposed.  I heard him leave the room, and then return with something heavy.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw him put down the toy chest and pull out the whip.

The first lash stung – even expecting it, it still took me by surprise and made me cry out.  Not in pain, exactly – but that strange mix of pleasure and pain that was such a rush to my system.  He continued to lash me and I sank into subspace, rocking slightly and moaning in pleasure/pain.

I didn’t even notice Sir had gotten up and helped himself to another whip – that is, until the lashes doubled in number.  My moans turned to cries as the pain and pleasure tripled, rushing through me until I climaxed uncontrollably.

“Spread your legs,” Master ordered, and I obeyed, spreading my legs open.  Almost immediately I felt a hard SMACK with the whip.  “Wider” he snapped, and I braced myself on the back of the couch and spread my legs farther.  The whip curved around my thigh and kissed my inner leg, and I trembled and lost myself in the rush of new sensations.  Time lost all meaning – all that was left was pleasure and pain.

Distantly I was aware that the whipping has stopped.  Cool hands were running over my body, smoothing, stroking, feeling so good against the hot welts that had formed on my ass and thighs.  A hand reached under my shirt and caressed my nipple through the fabric of my bra.  My breath caught at the intensity of my reaction – both nipples felt as though they had just snapped to attention.

Cool metal ran over my back, and the soft sound of fabric parting came to my ears.  My top fell away, sliding to the floor in dramatic death throes, silky and silent.  With another flick of the knife, my bra joined it – adding insult to injury as it landed heavily on the dying shirt.  The knife continued its trail, tracing patterns on my skin, ever so gently over my back…more like the gentle touch of an inexperienced lover than the cruel savagery one would expect from a sharp dagger.  I could feel it tracing swirling patterns on my back and shoulders, and felt my skin react to the sharp point by turning red.  The knife traced back down to my ass, then between my legs to lightly tease my swollen lips.  I froze in fear and desire.

So focused was I on the trailing blade that I had not noticed my breasts being manipulated until the first clamp bit sharply on my nipple, forcing a cry past my lips.  I whimpered, hoping for that magical moment when the pain turned to pleasure.  After a few long seconds, it hit in a wave that forced another orgasm to shudder around my clit, and I felt myself gush, fluid running down my legs in twin ribbons of ecstasy.  The other clamp bit my nipple as the orgasm subsided, bringing another scream-turned-moan and bringing me back to the point of climax.

Sir smiled as he positioned himself in front of me, leaning down to whisper “You didn’t think I would let him have all the fun, did you?”  A deep chuckle from behind me told me that Master not only allowed this but approved of it, and I wondered for a moment if they had planned to tag-team me.

The sound of a zipper brought my attention back to Sir, but his jeans were still fastened.  I felt a probing at my pussy and realized it was Master who had shed his clothing.  He took me with one savage thrust, and I gasped at the sheer forcefulness of it.  This is what I loved – being taken, without being asked – my willingness and obedience assumed.  He began to finger my ass as he pounded me, slipping his thumb inside and making me groan in desire.

Another zipper undone, and the bulge in Sir’s jeans became more clearly defined.  He was not wearing boxers, and I could see every detail.  The urge to pleasure him grew strong, and the last of my will melted away as I took him in my mouth.  The first few licks were tentative, teasing…and tempting.  I opened my mouth to take more when Sir thrust his hips and filled my mouth.  At the same moment, Master shoved a second finger inside my ass, and I was caught between the two of them.  There was no avenue of escape – but that didn’t matter, I wouldn’t have taken the opportunity to get free anyway.

A rhythm began to build between us – Master would impale my pussy with his cock, forcing me forward – forward to gag on Sir’s cock.  Every time I would draw away from the cock in my mouth, the cock in my pussy would slam into me, shoving me forward and forcing the cock into my throat.  My breasts swung with each thrust, the chain connecting the clamps swaying and bringing a different kind of pleasure.  The pressure built and built to incredible proportions before finally exploding.  I felt my pussy squeeze tightly and my scream was muffled as the rhythm continued unabated – for my orgasm didn’t matter.  My pain and pleasure didn’t matter, for I was nothing but a tool for their use.

After what seemed like hours of never-ending sensation, I felt Master pull away and say something to Sir – although I couldn’t make out what was said.  Sir pulled out of my mouth and I stood there, gasping, braced against the couch as though I would collapse if I let go.  A low conversation between the two men ended with them grabbing my arms, pulling me upright.  The clamps were removed and I screamed long and loud, the sound ending in a sob.  Together they dragging me to the bedroom, throwing me on the bed.  I landed face-down, my throbbing breasts smashed into the bedspread.  My legs were spread and the clamps were snapped to my labia, bringing a moan of sheer desire.

The toy box was brought back into the room.  I could hear the men muttering about what to use on me, and when.  My hair was roughly grabbed and a blindfold placed over my eyes.  A finger smelling of my juices forced my mouth open to accept the ring gag, which was then strapped tightly to my head.  I felt my hands being bound with rope, tied tightly together, and then attached to my collar.  Leather cuffs were a different sensation, forcing a spreader bar to my ankles.  I heard Master run a rope from my bound wrists under the bed, coming back up and tying to the spreader bar.  I could not shift more than a few inches in any direction.  Before there had at least been the illusion of escape – but now I had nowhere to run.

The whip made a reappearance, but this time I was too far gone to feel the pain – only the pleasure came through, no matter how hard I was beaten.

The bed shifted and a cock was rubbed against my face.  I could smell myself all over it – so I figured it had to be Master – that guess confirmed when he began to fuck my face.  I would recognize the shape of his cock anywhere, and could taste myself all over him.  I began to clean my juices from his cock, sucking until my cheeks hollowed.

A light touch on my pussy made the chain between the clamps rattle.  A hand smeared lube all over my pussy and ass, the fingers exploring both orifices with rough disregard.  A grunt of satisfaction before Sir entered me, slowly, teasing me with several shallow strokes, just barely going in before pulling back.

Slowly, far too slowly, the rhythm picked up, until at last I was being pounded again at both ends.  My tortured nipples swung back and forth, brushing against the textured bedspread and sending jolts of fire down to my clit – which was throbbing and wet.

Little wisps of words came to me….”Such a good little slut.”  “You like this, don’t you?”  “So wet, so eager to fuck.”  A hand slapped down on my ass, smacking the welts, and I cried out in pain/pleasure.  “What’s the matter, slut?  Did that hurt?  Why should I care if it hurts?”

Something cool running down my ass caught my attention – more lube was being poured over me, and a moment later I realized why.  The butt plug slid in and out of me, in contrast to the rhythm of the cocks at first, but then it began to work with the rhythm, and every stroke got it a little farther in me before it was pulled back.  I realized that I was being triple penetrated and that I had no say in the matter.  Master’s cock began to throb against my tongue as Sir began to moan, signaling that they were both cumming.

Both men slammed into me simultaneously, just as the plug slid all the way into my ass.  My body convulsed as a new orgasm hit – this one harder than all the ones before it.  I felt hands grab my hips as he shoved forward one last time, slamming all the way to the hilt into me.  The cock in my mouth pulled away and hot cum splashed all over my face, and dripped into my open mouth.  I spasmed, unable to even scream as the orgasm tore every molecule of my body apart.  Pleasure ripped my mind apart as the room spun – and darkness, blessed darkness, took over me.

Are all submissives equal?

This morning I sat down to catch up on my blog reading….I went over to Luna’s blog and was astounded by what I read there.  Well, not astounded by her actual blog post – but in the comments another sub decided to take Luna to task for “grating on her nerves” (which quite frankly was the nicest sentence in the whole comment).

http://lunakm.me/2010/01/over-complication/

This bothers me on a lot of levels.  First of all, if you don’t like what you read on a particular person’s blog, then QUIT FOLLOWING THE BLOG.  Why waste time reading a blog you don’t like?

Second of all, it is tacky to throw a tantrum on someone else’s blog.

But last, and most importantly, since when is it okay to tell someone they are inferior just because she lives a different lifestyle than your own?  This person proceeded to yell at Luna for not having children, for expressing her misery at being ill, and for mourning the fact that she didn’t have private time of her own.  Evidently if you are a submissive and a blogger, you are supposed to present a happy front at all times?

Honestly – everyone is different, everyone is unique.  There are Dom/sub relationships out there that are 24/7.  Some people have a D/s relationship that revolves purely around the bedroom – in every other area of life the partners are equal in all things.  And still others have different styles of BDSM.  That doesn’t mean that one style is superior to the other….it just means it is different.

The “holier-than-thou” attitude that I see coming out of some subs really pisses me off.  As an editor of a human sexuality forum, I see this a LOT.  Quite frankly, whenever I read it I feel as though I am a recess monitor at a school for delinquents!

Every sub is different (and I can hear all the Dominates saying “Amen!” over that fact).  We are individuals with differing viewpoints, priorities, habits, and values.  We are also, all of us, united by our status as submissives.  We are members of a  sisterhood that is already attacked by the mainstream public who believes in  myths and misconceptions.  The last thing we need is dissension among our own ranks.

So please, people – if you read a blog that you disagree with, and you feel the need to post something to that effect in the comments, then do so with tact and empathy.   You wouldn’t like it if others attacked you for YOUR lifestyle choices, so offer the same courtesy to others.

Apparently I am a submissive…who knew?

I just linked to this test courtesy of the fabulous Curvaceous Dee:

http://quizfarm.com/quizzes/Sex/poeticthinker/do-you-have-an-inclination-for-bdsm/

According to this, I scored as Submissive (gee, who knew?)

You Scored as Submissive

(((Note: This quiz is not totally comprehensive because of the length such a quiz would be. I kept it sex-based because I felt that psychological profiles and motivations were too complicated and vary too greatly among people that practice BDSM.))) It feels good to serve. A lack of control in the bedroom can be fun and relaxing. Being with a dominant person wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Submissive

96%

Degradation Lover

93%

Exhibitionist / Voyeur

93%

Experimental

89%

Masochist

79%

Bondage

68%

Switch

46%

Sadist

43%

Vanilla

25%

Dominant

4%

A couple things about this surprised me – for example, the bondage percentage.  Honestly, I am a total rope slut, and I only score a 68% bondage desire??? *scoffs*  And I am 46% switch? I don’t think so!

I do have to thank Curvaceous Dee for the chuckles *grins*  You can find her blog at curvaceousdee.com.

No such thing as a G-spot????

It has been all over the internet recently – a new study in Britain discovered that women don’t have a g-spot.  (http://www.cnn.com/2010/HEALTH/01/05/g.spot.sex.women/index.html)

Hmmm, then what is the little spot inside of me that makes me gush and scream and quake?

Seriously, a lot of women HAVE found a spot on the front wall of the vagina that has a different texture and  increased sensation.  So are the British researchers saying that those of us who have found this spot are lying?

I suspect there is going to be a lot of studies with conflicting results in future news articles.  In the meantime, a lot of women are going to be saying the same thing as the young woman in this comic:

Credit where credit is due – the comic above was found at  http://www.cad-comic.com/sillies/20100104